this is angkor country (style 4: idyll)

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the eucalyptus tower high
above the shaded temples far below.
their leaves hang still, in the absence
of breeze, and the rice paddies in the
distance glisten in the bright noonday
sun. a young boy pedals his rusted
old bike slowly along the dusty country
lane, his backpack resting upon a small hunched
frame, he whistles as he heads home for lunch.
his mother is behind their stilted house,
slapping the recently washed clothes against
a rock, beating the dirt out of them. water buffalo
bray in the muddy pits beyond, rolling in the
wetness they coat their warm, coarse bodies in the
cool earth, long strands of elephants grass
hanging from black lips.
life goes on for the men and women of angkor,
they came and settled hundreds of years ago,
around the temples that sit, silent guardians,
watching over the land with each sunrise and sunset.
their red and gray stones cracking and
crumbling, tree roots seeping into nooks
and crannies, the quiet country life continues,
the seasons come and go, the rice is harvested,
and the temples sit, quietly watching life pass by below.

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